Too Old to Be a Patriot? Nah!

18 02 2013

If Obama had his way, seniors would be placed upon the handiest ice floe and set off to sea as soon as they were no longer able to pay taxes; this is the impression I get from the carefully worded phrases on the Obamacare legislation. Oh, it doesn’t mention ice-floes. But it does say things to the effect that the elderly should be encouraged to reflect upon “quality of life” issues, and consider “living wills”. In short, hurry up and die so the benefits you have contributed into all your life can be passed along to somebody who never worked a day in their miserable life. Charming.

It has not escaped my notice how less than 5 years of Obama-tics has turned this country into a virtual wasteland.   Gangs of hooligans running in the streets, an astronomical national debt, our country infested with illegals who are bleeding us dry while Americans go homeless; it makes me doggone mad that all the great ideals and principles that made this country the greatest and strongest in the world has been literally tossed away, and we are governed by squabbling poobahs who can’t seem to agree on anything, even among themselves, lorded over by a man who doesn’t have the right qualifications to be a dogcatcher in this country, much less the President.

And, I have to sit back and ask myself, “How in the hell did we let this all happen?” And, more importantly, “What in the hell can we do about it?”  It doesn’t seem like we the seniors can do much of anything. What power do WE have, after all? We’re old. A lot of us are feeble. We forget a lot. We take pills.

HOWEVER!! We have a lot of things going for us that the young and vigourus do not. There are a lot of us. We are the Baby Boomers, and we remember What Things Used To Be. We were there when Cokes were 25 cents, and candy bars were a nickel, and our parents could leave us home when they went out and not have to worry that some freak would break in and murder us.  We went to church, and said prayers in school, and didn’t think a thing of it, and murders actually made the front page news.

We would very much like that America back, because when Eisenhower was President, we at least could trust the government to be ethical, and the President to actually care for the people he governed. We remember our schools were actually a place where you learned things, and weren’t guinea pigs for whatever hairball theories came down the pike. So, we have a model of what we are aiming to achieve, something these young folks can’t imagine.

And, we have TIME. They are running about trying to earn livings for the most part, and these days, if you’re lucky enough to have a job at all, it’s a full-time occupation. Most oif us are retired, on some kind of pension. Luckier ones are set up so they don’t have to worry at all financially. Good for you! So, we are able to devote a good deal of our time to whatever we choose to dedicate ourselves towards. And, we can do a lot, just with a computer. Even with a typewriter and a box of envelopes for that matter.

What can you do? There are all kinds of things. if you have a computer, you can e-mail your senator, congressperson, the White House, or anyone else you wish to express your opinions to. You can sign petitions, join Patriot activist sites.  You can learn more about the things you want to change or advocate, and find out how to do so.

If you don’t have a computer, and want to become computer savvy, there are all kinds of ways to do so. Our local library gives computer classes. There are also adult education classes offered. Sometimes they are offered at low cost, or even free. There are online classes, also. Of course, you have to know how to use a computer, first. Once you can get a few computer classes, and can find out what kind of computer you want (a laptop is inexpensive and good enough for most home users) you can find excellent bargains on e-bay. rent a computer at your local library or internet cafe.

Another way to become active is to attend your city council meetings and find out what’s going on in your neck of the woods.  One woman noticed that there was no one who investigated fraud prevention in her state’s election offices. She simply volunteered do take the job on. Perhaps you can see what can be done in your own town.

Things will never change as long as the populace hide their heads in the sand and pretend there is nothing wrong. The seniors can be a powerful and active voice if they wish to be; “we ain’t daid yit!”  Or, to put it a bit more poetically, as Mr. Dylan said, “Do not go gentle into that good night, rage, rage, against the dying of the light!”

 





A National Day Of Mourning : Personal Liberty Digest™

17 01 2013

A National Day Of Mourning : Personal Liberty Digest™

via A National Day Of Mourning : Personal Liberty Digest™.

This is where we really find out how badly our faith in our naieve belief in our government has failed. Not only has Obama decevied and betrayed everyone who trusted and believed in his lies, he has deliberately set out to destroy every one of them. The amazing thing is, no one seems able or willing to stop him, or remove him. So, wear black on Inaugartion Day, folks, better yet, sackcloth and ashes. The end of our nation, andall that it means, is not far behind, destroyed by our own hands.





A Chattanooga Courthouse: 1956 or Thereabouts

4 01 2013

I looked around in awe at the big, cavernous courthouse in downtown Charttanooga. I was just a little girl, and didn’t often get to go anywhere with Daddy. I smelled the dusty, rich smells of wood, brick and the breaths of all the folks who’d ever been in there it seemed, and watched the slow-moving Tennessee people go about their business while Daddy talked to some menfolks. I idly watched some old negroes talking quietly on a bench, and thought one of them looked like Uncle Rufus, worked in old Mr. Stutchberry’s warehouse and helped him make shampoo in that big ole round thing that hissed and steamed and had all kinds of tubes running out of it. Uncle Rufus was old like them, and he told me stories about the damyankees who, he solemnly assured me, ate dogs and babies up there in Neywyorkcity, and were all scoundrels and re-per-bates. “They-all worship th’ devil, too, hun.” He’d tell me solemnly. “Ol’ satan hisself. Uh-huh. Cain’t trust ‘em, no-how, no-way!”  And then, he’d share some of his lunch with me. 

         I noticed two gleaming white water fountains, on opposite sides of the hall there, and wondered if people in the courthouse got all that thirsty that they needed so many water fountains. Then I saw a sign above one of ‘em, and figured it must be special somehow, and laboriously sounded out the letters just like Miss Helen told us to. Then I was puzzled. I looked at the water fountains again. I frowned. I was a curious little mite, and when I had a question, I wanted an answer right then even if Daddy did get riled up at me. I tugged on his  suit coat. (You never went downtown without your suitcoat and hat on.)  “Daddy! Daddy!” I pipped up.

        “Hush, Chylene!” Daddy growled, absorbed in his conversation. “I’m talkin’.”

                “But Daddy! I gott know sumthin’!”  I insisted in my sweet, little-girl voice.

      Daddy frowned, and was about to give me a good scolding, but stopped. The men he was talking to were chuckling indulgently. A sweet-faced brown-eyed child with long black pigtails and adorable gaps in her front teeth probably was going to say somethin’ real cute and dumb. 

            “What the hell is it?” Daddy growled nervously. He knew me a bit better than the men did.

       “Daddy! Them fountains! That there sign says that one is ‘colored’, but its jest as white as the other one! It ain’t got no color at all!  You better go tell them folks somebody made a mistake!”

     It’s amazing how far a child’s sweet, high pitch can carry. The men’s faces froze into incredulty.. Daddy turned red, then stark white. There was a long, painful silence, then muffled snickers from the elderly negro men as they waited with scarcely concealed amusement to see how my father would extricate himself.

         Daddy grabbed my hand and rushed out of there as fast as his feet could carry him, mumbling something about “..haven’t finished paintin’ them all yet..” to me.  

            He was followed by the rich, full sound of black laughter.

        

 








chyleneramsey

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